


Choice Paralysis

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: Mauled Monsters [2]
Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: ABDL, Daddy Play, Diapers, M/M, Pants wetting, double blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 14:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: When you can see the fractal shards of possibility, wouldn't you need a break too, now and then?





	Choice Paralysis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HappyKonny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyKonny/gifts).



The Host was narrating the inside of his head.

Of course he was.

He always was. 

That was how he worked.

He couldn’t see, but… well, he’d gained some kind of sense from everything else, and now he knew the future.

Sort of.

He knew the various options for various futures. 

Sometimes down to the very tiniest variations, and he knew each bit of it, until he was seeing all of them playing out in front of him, again and again and again. 

So the Host sat at the kitchen table, practically trapped by his own mind as it just... showed him all the possible things that happen.

But they didn't happen until they.. well, happened, which left the Host in a bit of a lurch, because sometimes he got... stuck.

There was just him, sitting here, thinking, muttering to himself, when he needed to get up and do something.

What kind of something?

A whole bunch of something. 

He needed to eat, he needed to bathe, he needed to get dressed out of his pajamas.

But he had all of the different options going through his head, it was hard to move.

Choice paralysis - that was the term, wasn't it?

Thankfully, the Host didn't get it too often - he was usually distracted by one thing or another, which meant that the running commentary shut off.

But today... well, it was loud.

Probably because he was so tired. 

It was very loud, and it was nonstop, and he needed to do _something_ , or else he'd just sit here all day, and possibly wet himself.

That was becoming more of a possibility with every passing minute, and... no, that wasn't good.

And then Wilford came in.

Wilford... always threw a bit of a wrench in things. 

His madness was... well, it was madness. 

It didn't follow any kind of rhyme or reason, which was the equivalent of radio static filling the Host's head. 

It was soothing, once he got used to it.

"My boy," said Wilford, and then he had his hands on the Host's shoulders.

The Host jumped.

He couldn't entirely help it - he was used to seeing everything when it was about to happen, and here was Wilford. 

Here was Wilford, who was resting his weight on the Host's back, his chin on top of the Host's chin.

"How are you, my friend?"

"I'm fine," the Host said, and the narration was continuing in his head, one long, never ending stream of consciousness. 

"No, you're not," said Wilford. "I can smell the smoke coming out of your head."

"The smoke?"

"You're thinking so hard there's smoke," said Wilford, as if that was a thing that made sense.

"Oh," said the Host.

Wilford's madness had a scent - it was sweet, with a touch of sour, like the sweat given off by someone sick.

And then Wilford was making an amused noise.

"You need to take a shower," said Wilford. "I can smell that, too."

"I will," said the Host.

"What you _will_ do is stay seated, while I make you breakfast," said Wilford, in a scolding tone of voice."

"You will?"

"You need to eat something," said Wilford, and then he was bustling around. "Stay seated."

"I can take care of myself," the Host said, and he was trying to sound like he believed himself.

"Maybe you can take care of yourself, but I can't take care of myself," said Wilford, and there was a tinge of what might have been hysteria on the very edges of his voice.

_Oh_.

"Of course," said the Host, as if that was just a thing that you agreed to.

"I thought you'd come around to my way of thinking," said Wilford, and there was the sound of the stove being turned on, of something being stirred in a bowl.

The Host just... sat there, let the quiet static inside of his head take over.

He didn't do this too often - he needed to be on his toes, he couldn't let himself become too... complacent, too lazy.

He couldn't let it be too easy.

But it was nice to just... relax.

Although relaxing had its own problems.

"Are you making food?"

That was Dark.

That was Dark, and the Host jumped again, and wrinkled his nose.

He could practically taste the butter melting on the pan, and the spices that were being tossed into... something. 

And there was the stale chocolate scent of whatever it was that clung to Dark - stale chocolate and ozone, like residual magic. 

Inasmuch as anything could smell like magic. 

The Host used to have doubts in regards to Dark's magic, but then again, he was, in some respects, the equivalent of the predictive text of the universe.

"I'm making _him_ food," said Wilford. "If you want food, make your own, or ask me nicely."

"Would you be so kind as to make me some food, please?"

Dark's tone was like poisoned honey.

The Host's stomach did an interesting sort of twist, although he wasn't entirely sure why.

When his head was full of all of this static, it became a lot easier to pay attention to all the various things that his body was telling him. 

When things were especially... hectic, he ended up lost in the various futures, until he was sometimes stuck in place, paralyzed with too much choice, paralyzed by too many options.

But he didn't really have a choice right now, did he?

"I suppose I will," said Wilford, jolting the Host out of the possible future where he said "no," where he said "sure," where he threatened to kill Dark.

Admittedly, how the heck would he have managed to kill Dark, in the first place, considering the fact that Dark wasn't entirely... well, here.

He was from elsewhere, and had gained the powers that came from it. 

... sort of.

The Host knew the various... options, in regards to Dark's background, in regards to Wilford's. 

And now the Host was sitting at a table, and his head was going around in questions, and it was loud, but he could live with loud.

Loud was better than roaring, after all.

And then there was a plate being put in front of him - when had that happened?

There were more clinks and clunks, as Wilford put other plates on the table, and then Dark and Wilford were sitting at the table with the Host. 

It was odd to be with the two of them, when they were acting so... normal.

It was weird to think of any of them doing anything normal, but then again... well, nothing about their lives was normal, was it?

Sometimes, the Host remembered bits of what had been his life, before all of this... well, all of this.

Although it was strange to think that any of this had been... real, whether in the traditional sense, or in the sense of it being a memory.

Did it being a memory make it real?

Did he have memories that weren't true?

"Host," said Dark, and his voice was sharp enough that the Host jumped.

"What?"

"Your food is getting cold," said Dark.

"Right," said the Host, and then he was picking his fork up, sticking it in the plate.

Scrambled eggs.

Scrambled eggs, with basil, oregano, tarragon, garlic powder, a dash of red wine.

He ate it up, carefully, and enjoyed the chance to enjoy a meal without having to see the person make it in his mind's eye, and all the different ways that it could have been done.

"You're more in your head than usual," said Dark, and he nudged the Host with his foot.

"Hm?"

"He's been stuck in his own thoughts," said Wilford.

"He should come out of them," said Dark.

"Why?"

"Because it can't be healthy to be this caught up in your own mind," said Dark. 

"That's unusually philanthropic of you, to be so concerned about someone else."

"That's an awfully big word," said Dark, and his voice was downright silky.

"I'm crazy, not stupid," said Wilford, in a moment of lucidity. 

The Host's eyebrows went up a bit, and he was grinning in spite of himself.

"You made the baby smile," Wilford said, and he sounded pleased.

"So now he's the baby?"

The Host couldn't exactly read what was being implied with Dark's voice.

"Well," said Wilford, "sometimes he's the baby, and when he is, I'm his Daddy, and I'm the one who is in charge. Ergo, when I say he's the baby, he's the baby."

"I thought I had some say in this," the Host said, although he wasn't protesting too weakly.

"Do you not want to be the baby?"

Wilford's tone was one of polite inquiry.

"I mean, I didn't say that," said the Host.

The static in the back of his head as getting louder.

"It's not like you had anything especially important planned for the day," said Wilford, and now his voice sounded smug.

If the Host had eyes, he would have rolled them. 

As it was, he could convey a bit of an "are you kidding me?" vibe without actually saying anything. 

"I might have," said the Host.

"No, you didn't," said Wilford. "You've been sitting at this table for three hours when I came downstairs."

... oh.

So it was one of those days.

Sometimes, the sheer volume of choices presented to the Host left him paralyzed. 

How to even figure out where to go next, when it was nothing but endless, unfolding reactions?

He licked his lips, and he kept eating his eggs.

He didn't really have an argument, did he?

_Did_ he have anything especially important that he needed to do today?

Nothing that he could think of, come to think of it.

"Alright," the Host said, because what else was he going to say?

"Aren't you going to at least fight it a bit?"

Dark sounded... something.

"That is one possible future," said the Host, falling back on vagueness, since he couldn't think of anything else.

"One possibly future," Dark mimicked. "I forgot how complicated that could be."

"I didn't," Wilford said cheerfully.

There was more clinking, but thankfully, no chewing noises. 

"Well, no, but you remember so much random stuff," said Dark. "You've got a mind like a steel trap."

"Liable to take someone's leg off, or give you tetanus?"

The Host was rather proud of himself for that one. 

He wasn't always the best at keeping up with the witty banter, although he was getting better at it. 

There was a moment of silence, and the futures where Dark lost his temper, where Wilford... well, no, Wilford was a big blank spot.

But then there was laughing - loud, ugly, explosive laughter, and then a clatter, as Wilford dropped his knife and fork, to laugh harder.

"There are worse things to worry about than tetanus," said Dark, and the Host could hear the smirk in his voice.

The Host had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

That was Dark, always trying to come off as darker and edgier than everyone else. 

"Well," said Wilford, "you already know about what goes on in my head, don't you?"

"I can honestly say that I haven't the foggiest clue as to how your mind works," said the Host.

"There's a power to that, you know," said Wilford, and he sounded thoughtful, for a change.

"It seems like a hassle," said Dark.

"What does?"

"Losing your mind, so that you can be beyond the powers of precognition."

"It's more than that," said Wilford.

There was something complicated going on between Dark and Wilford, something that the Host didn't entirely understand. 

It came from a shared history that he wasn't a part of, and while he could theoretically use his own sight to see into it... well, it was complicated.

There was a point, before Wilford's madness, when his history was clear.

That had long since passed, and the Host was at least somewhat stuck.

It was all a bit confusing, truth be told - there was a mansion, there was a murder, and there was some kind of history with Dark, which the Host _really_ didn't understand, but this was another one of those cases that it would be considered... well, rude.

And then the Host's body was protesting at him again, and he realized, somewhat belatedly, that he needed to pee.

He really needed to pee.

He really needed to pee, while Dark and Wilford bickered with each other about something that the Host had no context for.

Something about someone's wife, something about someone being dead, only not dead, which was complicated, but everything around here was complicated.

The static in the Host's head was beginning to go into unpleasant territory. 

It was still better than the alternative, but... he was tired of being on the outside of the story.

Sort of.

It was all too fucking complicated.

There wasn't much he could do about this, was there?

Well, no.

There was an option.

He sighed, and he let go of his bladder.

He pissed, long and hard, and it was hot against his skin, as it soaked into his pajama pants, and then it was pattering down onto the floor.

It was an impulsive decision, admittedly.

He usually didn't act on impulse like that, since he was usually too paralyzed by choices.

Hmm.

Maybe this was good for him after all.

The static was loud, but the images had stopped playing out in his head.

"Did you just pee your pants?"

Wilford's tone was calm, almost mellow. 

"Yes," said the Host.

"Why would you go and do a thing like that?"

Dark sounded frustrated, but then again, he probably had gotten some piss on his foot.

Oh well. 

That wasn't the Host's problem.

"Because I wanted to," said the Host.

That seemed to strike Wilford as hilarious, because now he was cackling like a loon, rocking back and forth, trying to catch his breath.

His chair was squeaking with each rock, even as Dark stood up, making an annoyed noise.

"I'm going to have to change my clothes," he told Wilford. "Are you going to clean that up? Since _your_ Little made the mess."

"I thought he was our Little," Wilford said.

"When he pees on the floor, he's your Little," said Dark.

The Host snorted, and went back to eating his eggs.

He was more hungry than he thought he had been, apparently.

He kept eating, slowly, methodically, as the piss stuck to his legs, and then he was drinking from the glass that had been placed in front of him, taking sip after sip, until he had emptied it out.

There was pulp in the orange juice, and he rolled it over his tongue, enjoying the sensation of it in his mouth.

His head was being quiet, and it was... it was nice.

It was satisfying. 

It was nice to not have a dizzying array of choices, it was nice to just sit here and exist.

"I'm going to have to give you a bath," said Wilford, but he didn't sound angry, which was good.

The Host wasn't so good with angry.

"What kind of bath?"

"Well," said Wilford, "if I thought you had done that on purpose, to make me angry, I might give you a punishment bath, and spank you in the tub while your skin is still wet. But you're clearly just too Little to be without a diaper, so it is clearly _my_ fault that you had this accident."

"So you're going to absorb Dark's ire?"

"Something like that, yes," said Wilford, and he sounded like he was smirking.

Well.

That was, at the very least, very in character for Wilford.

He wasn't afraid of much of anything, which was no doubt related to his madness.

"Now... let's get you a nice bath," said Wilford, in a placating tone.

The static in the Host's head was quiet, and didn't tell him which choice he should have made. 

He sighed, and he nodded.

* * * 

For all that he had once been described as "crazier than a shit house rat," Wilford was surprisingly methodical. 

He took off the Host's pajama pants, wiped off the Host's feet, took off the Host's shirt, then led the Host to the bathroom and sat him in the tub, turning the water on.

"You're not getting bubbles," Wilford told the Host. "I know I said that I wasn't going to punish you for having an accident, but I'm not going to reward you either."

"Right," said the Host, although he honestly wasn't paying that much attention.

Everything was static. 

"I'm washing this as well," said Wilford, and... the bandage around the Host's face.

Um.

The Host took the bandage off himself, sometimes, when he was sleeping, but... well, most people didn't want to see all of that, and due to the nature of what had happened to him, and how he had lost his eyes... it wasn't entirely natural.

There was magic involved - _obviously_ there was magic involved - and sometimes they bled freely.

There wasn't any blood dripping down his face right now, thankfully, but sometimes that could be the luck of the draw.

The Host turned his blind face towards where he though Wilford's face was, but there was no sound of horror, no sense of Wilford drawing away.

Just a pat on the head. 

"I've wanted to wash that for a while," was all Wilford said, and then more rustling, as Wilford put things in the laundry bag.

Then there was the sound of the water turning off, and the Host realized that the water was up around his waist.

He wasn't very good at telling these sorts of things - he was usually lost in his own head, in one respect or another.

Even when it wasn't narrating incessantly, it was still... happening.

There were splashes, and then something was nudging against his side, gently. 

"What's that?"

"Ducks," said Wilford, in a delighted voice. "Now... I'm going to clean up the kitchen. Can I trust you to be a good boy for me?"

The Host nodded, his hands exploring the sensation of the ducks under his fingers.

They were smooth, and almost squishy when he squeezed them. 

"There you are," said Wilford, and the Host looked up.

Someone else was in the room with them - Dark. 

Dark was in the room with them, and he wasn't radiating quite as much malice as usual.

"I told you, I had to change clothes," said Dark. 

"I thought you might have gone off to sulk about something," said Wilford, as if sassing off to Dark was a thing that could be done.

... well, it was a thing that could be done.

It was just that most people didn't do it, for one reason or another.

Mainly fear.

"I can watch him, while you clean," said Dark, and his voice was almost... reasonable.

Which meant he was probably planning something.

Hmm.

It could be hard to tell, with Dark. 

Dark's mind didn't work like any mind that the Host knew. 

Sometimes it almost seemed to be working against itself, but that made no sense.

Hmm.

The Host turned his face towards Dark's, and he saw the different reactions Dark might have - recoiling, making a disgusted noise, not reacting at all.

Instead, Dark took the Host's cheek into his hand, and he ran a thumb across the Host's cheekbone.

"You did a number on yourself, didn't you?"

The Host shrugged.

And then there was a thumb being pressed into the Host's mouth, and the Host sucked on it, because when he was in this kind of headspace, he would suck on just about anything.

Dark moaned, and the Host had to bite back his own grin.

Dark was... if not a pervert, than someone who was at least willing to come off as one. 

The Host sucked on the thumb in his mouth, tracing along the curve of Dark's thumbnail, and then he whined, because Dark was pulling away.

"I was... oh."

There was rustling, a zipping sound, and then... something wet and velvety was being pressed against his lips.

... huh.

Dark wasn't pushing his cock forward, wasn't trying to get the Host to take it into his mouth or anything like that.

He just... kept it there, and the Host could move or not.

All the different choices played themselves out in the Host's mind, an endless unwinding of fractal possibilities.

And the Host chose one, leaning forward and opening his mouth.

He held Dark's cock in his mouth, sucking on it noisily.

"Very good," said Dark, and his voice was rough, as one big hand came to rest on top of the Host's head. 

"Mmm," the Host murmured.

He'd always enjoyed sex. 

There were only so many offshoots of it, and he could, more or less, keep himself together for it.

He bobbed his head, and he kept sucking, his tongue sliding along the slit at the tip of Dark's cock, and then the Host was being pressed forward, gently, and he was still sucking, drooling down his chin.

"Such a good boy," Dark crooned. "Such a good, good boy."

"You seem to be getting up to mischief without me," came Wilford's voice from the door frame.

"Will, my friend, come enjoy yourself," said Dark.

He sounded positively ebullient, which was, in its own way, quite eerie. 

"I was enjoying myself," Wilford said, but there was the sound of him coming closer, and then various twangings, presumably as Wilford undid his suspenders.

And then there was another cock, pressing against the Host's cheek.

Wilford and Dark's bodies were pressed close together, knees resting on the wet bathtub, and the Host, turned his head, so that he could take the second cock into his mouth.

His lips were already being stretched, but... mm, there was something weirdly satisfying about taking two cocks at once.

A meat puppet sort of charm, as he opened his mouth wider, and the two cocks slid in and out it, slowly.

There was so much pre, salty and bitter at the same time, and he was drooling down his chin.

"Who's Daddy's good little boy, doing so well?"

WIlford's voice was a sweet croon, and it might have been creepy, in another situation, but not in this one.

In this one, the Host just... kept taking it, as his eyes practically rolled up into his head, and he made wet noises in the back of his throat.

He couldn't tell their cocks apart right now - they were just cocks, solid and velvety, hot and leaking. 

One of them slid out from between his lips, to press along his cheek, and then he was sucking again, with more finesse this time.

There were two hands on is head, and they were applying gentle pressure, forcing him to take them deeper and deeper, until he'd swallowed the cock in his mouth all the way down, and it was pressing against the back of his throat.

There was moaning, and that... yeah, that was Dark.

But Wilford was moaning as well, and rubbing the head of his cock along the Host's face.

The Host was shaking, and he was bringing his hands up, to each of their hips.

He turned his face up towards the two of them, and he would have been making eye contact, if he had eyes.

And then he was being pulled off of Dark's cock, and he was opening his mouth again, taking another cock into his mouth, and this one was probably Wilford's, as he leaned in forward, and his nose was pressed against Wilford's belly, as Wilford fucked his face, in sharp, shallow thrusts.

"You look so good when you've got a mouthful of cock," said Dark, and his voice was... affectionate. "I like seeing you like this."

The Host moaned, and then he was opening his mouth wider, so that they could both slide in, and okay, they weren't going as deep,but they were rubbing against each other, and he was doing things with his tongue, trying to flicker it across the underside of each cock, as he drooled some more, a veritable waterfall down his chin.

He was moaning.

He was moaning so loudly, as his mouth was used, as his face was fucked, slowly, then with increasing urgency.

He let his hair be pulled, let his mouth be pulled on and off of the cocks that were spreading his lips open, let himself just be used.

He was so hard himself, he wanted to cum, he wanted to stroke himself until his knees gave out, but... no.r

This wasn't the time for that. 

This was the time to make _them_ cum.

And cum they did, right down his throat, and okay, it was… it was wet, it was bitter, it was sticky, going straight down the back of his throat, into his stomach, dripping down his chin, his chest, into the water.

He was sputtering, and it was… well, it was a mess, and he was a mess, but his head was silent - no static, no narration, nothing.

It was a perfect moment, and it probably wouldn’t last, because nothing perfect ever _lasts_ , but for that moment… it was there. 

And then they were pulling out of his mouth, and the Host was coughing, trying to catch his breath, trying to get the taste of the cum out of his mouth, trying to get the smell out of his nose, and then he was just… catching his breath, in and out, the water cooling around him, his own sweat sliding down his face.

“Such a good boy,” said Wilford, and then there was a hand pushing the Host’s hair back from his face, and kissing his forehead. “You did a good job.”

The Host sighed, and he clutched at Wilford’s shirt, and then he sighed.

The narration was returning to his head, but… that was okay.

A cup of water was being handed to him, and he drank it down gratefully.

“Daddy is gonna wash you up now,” said Wilford, in that sweet voice of his he only brought out when he was being especially Daddy-ish. “Then we can have some nice quiet time. How does that sound?”

“That sounds nice,” said the Host, his voice quiet.

“Of course it does, because I planned it,” said Wilford, and he sounded downright smug about it.

God, but he was a smug bastard sometimes.

And then he poured a cup of water over the Host’s head, being careful to shield the Host’s eyes with one hand, and that was… that was okay.

The Host didn’t like getting water in the places where his eyes had been. 

And then there were fingers in his hair, and it was being washed. 

His everything was being washed, slowly, carefully, and he was just… drifting.

Drifting somewhere else, and someplace quiet inside his head.

He hadn’t realized he had quiet places in his head anymore.

Not since the magic (or… whatever it was) had hit him. 

The washcloth was soft, and faintly nubby.

The water was loud.

Dark was just… standing there.

Presumably with his dick still out, since the Host hadn’t heard any zipping noises. 

“Are you going to help, or are you going to just stand there?”

“There’s not much that I can do to help,” Dark replied.

“Well, why are you standing around here?” 

“I thought I might be able to… provide some kind of help,” Dark said, and his voice was awkward.

“Go get stuff ready, then,” said Wilford. 

“Get stuff ready?”

“Baby stuff,” said WIlford. 

“Baby stuff,” Dark said, his voice deadpan.

“Diapers, things like that,” said Wilford. “You can figure it out.”

He was busy rinsing off the Host, and then he was draining the tub, helping the Host get out.

The Host was quiet.

The running commentary was silent, and the Host could catch glimpses of the future, but it was… small futures. 

Was he going to get a bottle or a pacifier?

Was it going to be a disposable diaper, or a cloth one?

The Host let himself be guided into the bedroom, his bare feet quiet on the floor.

* * * 

It was a cloth diaper.

A thick cloth diaper, that Wilford pinned onto the Host's hips. 

It was bulky enough that he couldn't entirely close his legs.

Wilford seemed pleased with it, which was good.

The Host's cock was still hard, but Wilford just... positioned it so that it wouldn't peek over the edge of the diaper, then powdering it up.

That was nice, in a weird way.

It was nice, to be so sexually frustrated.

It was nice to have arousal thrumming under his skin.

Well, maybe "nice" was the wrong word, but it was... it was something.

He lay on the bed, and he sucked on his thumb, as his chest rose and fell.

He could see the future - the different directions could have gone, in ways that he hadn't seen, hadn't thought of.

"Who's Daddy's good boy?"

Wilford was... slipping something onto the Host's hands.

He flexed his fingers, curious, and found them covered in mittens without any thumbs.

His hands were officially out of commisison.

Huh.

"Now.. let's get you to be less naked," said Wilford, as he pulled plastic pants up the Host's legs, then helping the Host sit up. 

The Host didn't say anything, just listened to the echoing quiet in his head. 

"Here we go... arms up," said Wilfrod, and there was a hand on the Host's inner arm.

He wordlessly lifted his arms up, as a shirt was dropped onto him

He let Wilford pull it onto him, and then... he was having something slipped onto his feet.

"So you can't walk off," said Wilford, using that same sweet voice, but there was a little bit of menace under the surface.

Of course there was.

And then... then, the Host was on the floor, and there were toys placed around him.

He'd missed them, the first time.

His head was full of static, and his heart was beating in his ears.

"Now," said Wilford, and he was sitting on the floor as well and pulling the Host into his lap, "c'mere. Give your Daddy kisses."

He pressed a hand to the front of the Host's diaper, and the Host groaned, rolling his hips forward.

It was such a _tease_ \- he couldn't really feel much of anything through the thick cloth diaper and the stuffer and the plastic pants, but it was still... something.

He rolled his hips, and he kissed Wilford, a nervous, almost chaste kiss, and then he was letting himself be draped across Wilford's chest.

And then Dark was in the room with them. 

He just... appeared.

He appeared, and he was holding a bottle filled with something - milk, juice, water, all options.

And then the nipple was being pressed against the Host's mouth, and he began to drink, deep and sweet and cold.

"This is what you needed, isn't it?"

Wilford's voice was very quiet in the Host's ear, and there was something almost sad in it. "This is what my little boy needed."

The Host nodded, as Wilford's hand on the crotch of his diaper was replaced by Dark's, and he rolled his hips forward. 

He let himself drop into it - the pleasure, the sweetness, the quiet.

He let the future unfold before him, and he did not have to make a single choice.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com!


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